


Ouroboros

by SaturdayAddams



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-19 00:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17591333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaturdayAddams/pseuds/SaturdayAddams
Summary: If there is one thing both young and adult Zelda Spellman could agree on, is that she will never be stupid enough to curse herself with the weakness others call ‘love’. Somewhere, there might be a flaw in the plan though.





	Ouroboros

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure how this came to be, but hope you enjoy!

What were they even talking about? Looking at Edward’s mentor, she tried to pull herself from wherever her mind had just taken her and back to the present. Focus on the man in front of her, and cursed be Satan, she didn’t know what it was about him this night but he looked handsome beyond belief. She wasn’t known to get that lost in a pretty face, and she couldn’t quite remember having that strong of a reaction to said face before. Butterflies seemed to flutter away inside her, or maybe she was just woozy? Positively exuberant in a way most unlike her, and if it was the absinthe in her glass, or the distractingly gorgeous specimen in front of her that was the cause, most likely a combination of both, frankly, she didn’t really care.

 

Biting her lip, toying with her hair, it was a cliché, but men seemed to fall for it every time.

 

“I'm sorry, miss Spellman, I must have gotten distracted looking at you, what were you saying?”

 

Apparently, she wasn’t the only one feeling the effects of the evening. She smiled at him, and he rewarded her with one right back. This wasn’t like them, surely, but maybe they simply never had spent enough time alone together to find out before. Looking back through the doors of the party they were at, the balcony where they stood provided some privacy. Not that she’d usually care, but Edward would throw quite the fit if he had any inkling of the thoughts currently running through his sisters head. Judging by the look of his mentor’s face as he studied her, his were no purer. Before she’d had the chance to reply, three of the more raunchy members of their coven came stumbling through the doors, breaking whatever ‘it’ was that had fallen upon the unlikely pair. Faustus arched a brow at her, and held out an arm for her to hold.

 

“A dance?”

 

A dance surely should be proper enough, even in front of her brother, she reasoned as she giddily followed him inside, but her desire to do more than just dance didn’t exactly diminish by being in his arms.

 

One dance turned to many more, only interrupted by hushed conversations in whatever private corner they could find, his voice and touch doing more than the constant drink in her hand to colour her cheeks. If Edward noticed the closeness between his little sister and his mentor, at least she didn’t return home that night to be forced to hear him bitch about it.

 

As the weeks went by, the arms of Faustus Blackwood turned out to be dangerously addictive. Never one to give a warlock more than a night. Two if he was really good. Something about the man had her returning again and again. Though if gossip was true, which she had no reason to believe it wasn’t, he had quite the track record himself when it came to bedding, then abandoning whichever witch fell for his charms. As such, she could be at ease knowing she wasn’t the only one who kept returning despite their usual habits.

 

Faustus Blackwood was not sweet. He was dangerous, wily, arrogant and powerful. Everything that made her want to rip his clothes off. Sometimes he brought his strict teacher persona to bed, and Satan did she love how he dominated her in those instances, fulfilling every teacher fantasy she hadn’t known she had. More and more though, she was at the receiving end of a smile she knew he would kill anyone else for were they to witness it, and she begun to equally enjoy the instances where he was no longer Faustus Blackwood, but simply Faustus. When waking up next to him had become more the norm than the exception, she knew they had to talk. While none of his history would indicate him looking for anything but someone to warm his bed, every now and then she wondered if he was starting to expect more of her. Of them. One night she decided to put any eventual expectations to rest.

 

“I don’t do love”

 

It might have come a bit out of nowhere, naked and curled up in his arms, and his quizzical expression confirmed it. Resting her head on his bare chest she continued: “I just think you should know. I don’t do love. I don’t want love. I’m not looking for love, or any other fairy tale nonsense”

 

Truly, there were several things that more or less had stayed the same since she was a child: her devotion to the Dark Lord and refusal to suffer weakness, both in others and mostly herself, chief among them. And what was love if not a pale imitation to what one should give only to the Dark Lord, that nonetheless reduced most to pathetic imbeciles. Having watched her mother waste her tears far to many times simply because her father decided to partake in pleasures outside the home, she was more than determined to never let such a false emotion rule her. She’d even gone so far as a teenager to try to take matters into her own magic hands. Sneaked into the restricted area of the Acadamy with Hilda in tow as a terrified lookout while she found what she’d only heard whispers of among the already brokenhearted: A spell that would free her should she ever be cursed with love. What exactly she thought she’d accomplish with that was a mystery, her at the time too limited powers no match for the skills any spell in the restricted area would require. Looking back, realizing how little love had turned out to be an issue, she really shouldn’t even have bothered trying. Her heart was well protected on its own. Independence more threatened by somewhat meddling parents and an overprotective brother than any man or woman. Her confidence that ‘love’ was nothing but a ruse for the weak increasing by the decade.

 

“What do you want then?” His words bringing her back to the present. Her answer tumbled from her lips with little thought.

 

“I want things that are real. Tangible. Why should I waste my time with anything else?” She raised her head to look at him “And myself. Not some watered down simpering version of me”

 

“Well, then we’re more alike than I thought. I don’t believe in fairy tales either“. He grinned , twirled a lock of her hair around his fingers before continuing in a growl “And I really, really, want _you_ too”. His kiss enough evidence that whatever it was they had didn’t require concocted emotions and labels for her to be satisfied.

 

 

Edward eventually found out his suspicions that there was something going on between his sister and mentor were well founded, yelling at the both of them until they simply left for an extended trip to France while they waited for the matter to cool down. What exactly her brother thought he could protect her from that she couldn’t on her own was a mystery to her, but when two years had passed with no sign of them imploding he, if not exactly approved, resigned to ignore the topic and merely glower at them whenever they became too amorous in front of him.

 

The first time they truly fought it was an explosive, drawn out affair that lasted two weeks, and caused half the town to flee, convinced Satan himself was causing fire to violently rain down at irregular intervals. Their rather enthusiastic reunion caused more destruction, the earthquake of 57 had scientific circles scratching their heads, wondering just how one of that strength could simply appear with no warning, and only be felt in one town.

 

He occasionally broached the subject on whether they should make their relationship, whatever it was, more formal. She always made sure he knew just how ridiculous that suggestion was, and if he bristled, she figured it was more his ego not used to being told ‘no’ than any deeper sentiments. Eventually he learned, and mercifully stopped bringing it up. Did it really matter? They may have lived separately, but their nights were mostly spent together. While neither of them believed in monogamy, at least when it came to themselves, they were both clearly unwilling to share, and so no warlock dared seduce Faustus Blackwood’s woman, and no witch dared proposition Zelda Spellman’s man. Eventually, after Zelda had made sure to hex those with the longest ears and sharpest tongues, everyone in the coven learned to stop ask exactly what the nature of their relationship was, and just accepted that where one was, the other was usually nearby.

 

Over the years they had always been a bit sloppy and impulsive, caught up in the moment a little too often with no mind for certain precautions. As such, it was only inevitable that their frequent passions would eventually bear fruit, however unintended. Both bewildered, they danced around whether to keep it or not. Though there were no demand they would have to marry, a child would still mean a more binding relationship. She knew however, that if she had to bind herself to anyone, it would have to be him. Eventually, they both decided they liked the idea of a little joint them, and so without having any idea what they were really getting themselves into, they prepared to become parents. She briefly wondered about that dastardly little spell she’d once tried to cast, immediately chiding herself for foolishly believing it could ever be in effect. Yet, she could never bring herself to ever express anything more than mere affection for the little devil growing inside her, making a mental note to indulge her pregnant follies and decipher the spell’s vague wording later.

 

It wasn’t meant to be. One night, she woke up in a pool of her own blood, the stabbing pain pulling her from some dream she couldn’t remember, but she knew had filled her with joy. Faustus had called upon Hilda despite Zelda’s protests that there was nothing she could do, and as she appeared, she could only confirm what Zelda herself already knew.

She’d cried and let him hold her, but despite her sorrow, she couldn’t ignore just how vulnerable she was letting him see her. Something that she couldn’t quite place but still scared the crap out of her stirred within, and the desire to just stay in his arms was too strong, so she kicked him out. Threw a vase at him when he lingered. Yelled that it was all his fault, and fell apart in Hilda’s arms when he finally left.

 

Faustus came back numerous times every day the next weeks. Not able to face him, she had both Hilda and Edward turn him away, a task her brother would usually enjoy, but she could tell even he took no pleasure at the situation. When one day, Faustus didn’t show up, she could later never quite explain how she suddenly found herself hammering at his door at midnight, but when he opened it and accepted her as she stumbled into his arms, she could finally breathe again. Neither of them forgot the contraceptive spell again.

 

 

She almost told him once. Not that she loved him, dear Satan, she hadn’t gone that maudlin, but that she that she no longer knew how to see life without him, and maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all to just acknowledge what they were to each other. Eventually, she decided it wasn’t really needed. Over 20 years since that night she first properly saw him, and ‘they’ whatever it was, had lasted this far without any definitions or promises. It would last as long as they both still found it pleasurable. As long as they both found it worth it. In the end she just told him she was happy she made a move on him that night. He laughed, apparently under the impression he was the one to make the first move, and so they simply agreed it was fortuitous that they both had found themselves equally horny that night so many years ago.

 

 

 

New Years Eve was truly a mostly mortal tradition, but witches rarely declined an excuse for extravagant celebrations with copious amounts of both alcohol and magical substances, Zelda and Faustus no exception, and so she found herself in the garden of one of the Coven’s highest ranking witches, wonderfully inebriated by both drink and the man who’s lips she was currently locked with as the sky started to light up above them. Breaking apart, her eyes were drawn up to what had to be the closest thing the mortals ever came to magic.

 

“We can do better than that” Faustus whispered in her ear, letting his fingers gently hover over her heart. She could feel the electricity before she saw the glowing sparks growing between them, her own hands finding his heart, and the sparks grew and shot upwards. Her eyes locked with his, as ancient magic joined with new, just like their hearts currently providing both power and rhythm for the lights above. She knew what this meant. What had to exist between them for this magic to work.

 

Maybe it didn’t have to be scary. Maybe it could be real. It had to be. It probably had been for a long time. And truly, she was nowhere near anything less than what she had always been. What she wanted to be. Finally allowing herself to just feel, she found herself unable to stop smiling as she beamed at his face.

 

 

 

 

She felt woozy, with a strange sense of deja vu. Looking around, she could only deduce that she might have had a far too much to drink, not unlike the majority of the witches surrounding her. She felt oddly happy though, even with the nagging feeling that she had forgotten something. Focusing on the man in front of her, who to be fair, looked as befuddled as she felt, she tried to bring herself back to the present. Faustus Blackwood, Edward’s mentor. Former mentor, she checked herself. They were standing a little too close, probably to hear each other over the loud bangs that still echoed, though seemed to be dying down.

 

Damn, he was handsome, how had she never noticed that? She smiled on reflex. She truly could get lost in those eyes.

 

“I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”


End file.
